long-term leases with business owners and residents, and approves any and all types of development. We—”
“Thank you, Victor,” Saxby broke in. He gestured to the next in the circle. “I imagine you remember Evan Kearns, the conference coordinator.”
Evan dipped his head.
“And Paul Becker.”
Becker frowned.
“Beside Paul is his lovely wife, Sonja.”
Sonja smiled. An exotic-looking woman with dark brown hair, she wore a fitted, salmon-colored top and linen slacks, and her foot worked back and forth, kicking a stiletto slipper.
“And last, but not least, we have Fancy Carter and her two sons, Dwight and Dwayne. You remember Dwayne from the Sapelo trip. The Carter family owns and operates the Okefenokee Swamp Tours. They let us use their bus today.”
Rachel nodded, pinching her lips together. Fancy Carter looked nothing like Rachel would have expected Dwayne’s mother to look like. For starters, she didn’t seem old enough to be the mother of a-thirty-something-year-old man. Poured into her blue jean shorts, she wore her blonde hair Farrah Fawcett-style, while her hot-turquoise shirt exposed the upper half of a pair of double-D breasts.
Dwight, on the other hand, looked just like Dwayne. Tall, good-looking in a rough sort of way, with a buzz cut, a tattoo, and the “come hither” smile of a man who thinks he’s all that with the ladies.
Becker cleared his throat. “Now that the introductions are over, can we rejoin our conversation?”
“I was listening, Paul,” said Katie. She leaned forward suggestively and gave Becker her full attention.
Sonja glared.
Dwayne smiled.
Katie ignored them both.
“You were telling us about your great swamp adventure,” she prodded, preening for full effect; then she softly started rubbing her belly.
Rachel wasn’t sure what the gesture was for, or for whose benefit—Becker’s or her mother’s, perhaps? Rachel stole a glance at Sonja, who appeared to be on fire, and then in Patricia Anderson’s direction. The woman seemed not to notice. Dwayne watched Katie intently.
“I made a trip out there two days ago,” announced Becker. “I wanted to see for myself what was so special about that piece of land you’re proposing to trade.”
Rachel glanced at Lark, then at Dorothy and Cecilia.
The others looked just as confused as she felt.
It must have been evident none of them knew what the others were discussing because Nevin Anderson leaped to the rescue. “Patricia and I are trading ten thousand acres of swampland for eighty acres of land on Hyde Island adjacent to the golf course.”
So that’s what all the protest was about.
“Tentatively trading,” Wolcott corrected. “The land swap is still pending the approval of the Authority.”
“I take it you want to expand the golf course,” Lark said.
Nevin Anderson smiled. “Sharp lady. You’re the hotel owner, right?”
Lark nodded.
“It’s a land swap I have been firmly against,” Becker announced, reclaiming the spotlight. “The land adjacent to the golf course is prime habitat for the painted bunting, a species already endangered by Eastern Seaboard development. I see no reason to continue that trend on Hyde Island.”
“Is there even land to be had?” Rachel asked. “Mr. Wolcott, didn’t you say that sixty-five percent of the island has to remain in its natural state?”
Saxby grinned and stroked his beard. “Two sharp ladies.”
“The answer to your questions are no and yes, but the Hyde Island Authority does have some wiggle room. Since it’s the state that approached us to allow the trade, they are willing to let us increase the percentage of developable land by a fraction.”
Becker cleared his throat. “After being out there, I can see why the state would want the swampland. It’s certainly full of treasures.” His mysterious tone drew everyone’s attention. Dwayne and Dwight exchanged glances. “Suffice it to say, I had an interesting day.”
“What kind of
“Thank you, Victor,” Saxby broke in. He gestured to the next in the circle. “I imagine you remember Evan Kearns, the conference coordinator.”
Evan dipped his head.
“And Paul Becker.”
Becker frowned.
“Beside Paul is his lovely wife, Sonja.”
Sonja smiled. An exotic-looking woman with dark brown hair, she wore a fitted, salmon-colored top and linen slacks, and her foot worked back and forth, kicking a stiletto slipper.
“And last, but not least, we have Fancy Carter and her two sons, Dwight and Dwayne. You remember Dwayne from the Sapelo trip. The Carter family owns and operates the Okefenokee Swamp Tours. They let us use their bus today.”
Rachel nodded, pinching her lips together. Fancy Carter looked nothing like Rachel would have expected Dwayne’s mother to look like. For starters, she didn’t seem old enough to be the mother of a-thirty-something-year-old man. Poured into her blue jean shorts, she wore her blonde hair Farrah Fawcett-style, while her hot-turquoise shirt exposed the upper half of a pair of double-D breasts.
Dwight, on the other hand, looked just like Dwayne. Tall, good-looking in a rough sort of way, with a buzz cut, a tattoo, and the “come hither” smile of a man who thinks he’s all that with the ladies.
Becker cleared his throat. “Now that the introductions are over, can we rejoin our conversation?”
“I was listening, Paul,” said Katie. She leaned forward suggestively and gave Becker her full attention.
Sonja glared.
Dwayne smiled.
Katie ignored them both.
“You were telling us about your great swamp adventure,” she prodded, preening for full effect; then she softly started rubbing her belly.
Rachel wasn’t sure what the gesture was for, or for whose benefit—Becker’s or her mother’s, perhaps? Rachel stole a glance at Sonja, who appeared to be on fire, and then in Patricia Anderson’s direction. The woman seemed not to notice. Dwayne watched Katie intently.
“I made a trip out there two days ago,” announced Becker. “I wanted to see for myself what was so special about that piece of land you’re proposing to trade.”
Rachel glanced at Lark, then at Dorothy and Cecilia.
The others looked just as confused as she felt.
It must have been evident none of them knew what the others were discussing because Nevin Anderson leaped to the rescue. “Patricia and I are trading ten thousand acres of swampland for eighty acres of land on Hyde Island adjacent to the golf course.”
So that’s what all the protest was about.
“Tentatively trading,” Wolcott corrected. “The land swap is still pending the approval of the Authority.”
“I take it you want to expand the golf course,” Lark said.
Nevin Anderson smiled. “Sharp lady. You’re the hotel owner, right?”
Lark nodded.
“It’s a land swap I have been firmly against,” Becker announced, reclaiming the spotlight. “The land adjacent to the golf course is prime habitat for the painted bunting, a species already endangered by Eastern Seaboard development. I see no reason to continue that trend on Hyde Island.”
“Is there even land to be had?” Rachel asked. “Mr. Wolcott, didn’t you say that sixty-five percent of the island has to remain in its natural state?”
Saxby grinned and stroked his beard. “Two sharp ladies.”
“The answer to your questions are no and yes, but the Hyde Island Authority does have some wiggle room. Since it’s the state that approached us to allow the trade, they are willing to let us increase the percentage of developable land by a fraction.”
Becker cleared his throat. “After being out there, I can see why the state would want the swampland. It’s certainly full of treasures.” His mysterious tone drew everyone’s attention. Dwayne and Dwight exchanged glances. “Suffice it to say, I had an interesting day.”
“What kind of
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